Royal and Ruthless: Innocent Mistress, Royal Wife / Prince of Scandal / Weight of the Crown. Robyn Donald
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bereft when he let her go with insulting ease.
‘I’ll look forward to that.’ Oh Lord; her voice was breathy and soft, as though she were mimicking Marilyn Monroe!
Without meeting his eyes, she directed a swift, shaken smile at him and turned into her room, nerves jumping when she closed the door. She leaned back against the carved wood, striving to force strength into her lax bones.
This whole situation was too dangerous. She shouldn’t have allowed those passionate moments in his arms, moments charged with a carnal magic that still ached through her.
Allowed them? She’d welcomed them, surrendered to them, wallowed in the erotic excitement of them, until in the end she’d had no defences left. The intensity of her emotions, the sensations Rafiq made her feel, scared her. When he touched her she lost herself, became someone different, an alien person with no shame and no control.
Lexie wrenched herself upright and walked across to a window, staring out across the lagoon to the white line of the reef.
Slowly she dragged air into her lungs. These bewildering days on Moraze were teaching her that she wasn’t capable of an easy relationship with lots of lust followed by a cheerful goodbye once it was sated.
‘Not my style,’ she said a little bitterly to the silent room. Certainly not with Rafiq…
But at least she’d learned one thing about him: he didn’t want just casual sex either. Because he could have had her right there and then, and he’d known it, yet he’d pulled back.
She set her jaw. Because her resistance was so easily breached, there must be no more of this perilous intimacy. After tomorrow she’d leave the castle. And she’d make it clear she wasn’t in the market for, well, anything. He wouldn’t press her; Rafiq de Couteveille was a sophisticated man, and there were plenty of sophisticated, experienced women who’d be more than happy to satisfy his urges.
And that sharp stab of emotion was not jealousy, or—worse still—anguish at the thought!
‘There!’ Rafiq pointed over her shoulder, his voice urgent. ‘Can you see them?’
‘Yes.’ Thrilled, Lexie lifted the binoculars he’d lent her and examined the small herd.
Not at all spooked by the vehicle, the horses lifted their heads and serenely surveyed them. A couple of skittish youngsters danced sideways, their coats gleaming in the tropical sun, only to subside and snatch another mouthful of grass. The stallion, master of his harem, clearly realised that no harm would come to them from this particular vehicle. Although he kept a watchful eye on them, his stance showed his trust. Even the wise old mare that led the herd had already dropped her head to graze again.
Lexie stole another glance at the arrogant line of Rafiq’s profile as he watched the herd. The angular lines of his face intent yet relaxed, he looked as though the sight of the herd satisfied a hunger in his soul. Her heartbeat picked up speed. How would she feel if he ever gazed at her like that?
Angry with herself at such futile longing, she lifted the binoculars to her eyes again. ‘How long have they been on Moraze?’
‘The bride of the first de Couteveille brought some of her father’s horses with her. They were set free up here, and here they’ve flourished ever since.’
Like the de Couteveilles, she thought. She said on a sigh, ‘I’ll always remember this day. Thank you so much.’
‘It has been my pleasure,’ he said calmly, and set the four-wheel drive in motion. As they started on the winding descent to the fertile lowlands, he asked, ‘Which did you enjoy most—the jungle animals in the mountains, or the horses?’
She laughed. ‘That’s an unfair question, but I was fascinated by the jungle animals, and can’t help wondering how on earth their ancestors got here.’
‘Biologists are working on their provenance,’ he told her. Without any change in tone he went on, ‘So you liked the horses better?’
Surprised at his perception, she admitted, ‘Yes. They’re so wild and free, and so lovely. I suppose I envy them.’
‘Perhaps we all do.’ He sent her a glance that set her toes tingling. ‘But you have independence. Or are you planning to give it up?’
Startled, she said quickly, ‘No.’
His glance sharpened before he returned it to the road ahead. ‘What appeals to you so much about the thought of freedom?’
‘Surely it’s everyone’s desire?’ She looked ahead to the vehicle that accompanied them, driven by a bodyguard with another by his side. Living like that would stifle her. How did Rafiq stand it?
‘Most people seem content to settle into comfortable servitude,’ he observed.
‘Perhaps. And perhaps they’re happier than those who long for freedom.’ She looked up. ‘Are you content with your chains?’
‘Tell me what you think to be my chains.’
‘Well, you’re forced to live as the ruler of Moraze. Don’t you ever have the urge to break free?’
His gaze flicked across her face, then returned to the road ahead. ‘Sometimes,’ he said, shrugging. ‘And you? What chains hold you?’
Lexie bit her lip. Like him, servitude to her forebears, but she wasn’t going to tell him about her father. ‘Oh, nothing really,’ she said lamely, wishing she hadn’t embarked on this.
She stared around, then said, ‘Oh! I recognise this place—it’s where we crashed!’ Frowning, she leaned forward to examine the road and the grassy bank as they passed the spot. ‘I wonder why I didn’t see the animal that ran out in front of us.’
‘It’s possible you did see it, but because of the shock you don’t remember,’ Rafiq said coolly. ‘The driver has recovered completely, by the way.’
‘I still feel guilty because I didn’t go to see her,’ Lexie said without thinking.
He shrugged. ‘You have high standards of behaviour. She did not expect it.’
Something in his tone made her say crisply, ‘Simple courtesy isn’t exactly a high standard.’ And without finesse she steered the conversation in another direction. ‘Tell me, what should I wear to the hotel party? I don’t know the sort of thing that would be appropriate.’
He sent her another enigmatic glance, almost as though she’d surprised him. ‘The dress you wore the night we met would be perfect.’
The flame-shot silk Jacoba had bought for her? Lexie loved that dress, and not just because the colour brought out a richness in her hair, and gave her skin a glow it didn’t normally have. In it she felt like someone else—a different, bolder, more confident person.
Torn between a desire to look her best and a cowardly caution, she hesitated, fixing her gaze on the scenery as Rafiq steered the vehicle around a set of hairpin bends.
When they’d been safely and skilfully negotiated, she asked, ‘Are you sure?’
‘I am,’ he said, and smiled, a slow, amused curl of his beautiful mouth that sent excitement flickering through her. ‘Colour is important here,’ he went on. ‘It seems to be a tropical thing. In cooler climates, people wear more subdued hues.’
‘Possibly because we have paler colouring, and vivid shades tend to wash us out.’
‘But not you,’ he told her with the confidence of a man who saw nothing unusual in discussing clothes with a woman.
The crisp note of challenge in his tone brought up her chin. ‘Then I’ll wear the dress.’
Only to stop there, because she didn’t know what to say next.
Although he didn’t seem to be flirting with her, there was definitely an appreciative glint in the greenstone gaze